


Wild Hearts Sunder

by unholyseraphs (oncharredwings)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bottom!Cas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heart Disease, M/M, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Past Child Abuse, Poverty, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:05:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncharredwings/pseuds/unholyseraphs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean meets Castiel Novak on accident when they have a small run-in with the cops. They hit it off immediately but Dean has no idea how much of a game changer Castiel will be in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Hearts Sunder

“Run!”

 

Dean glances up from trying to gather his belongings, when a young man whips past him, almost bowling him over completely. “Hey!” he shouts angrily.

 

“RUN!” the guy yells back at him and Dean is about to roll his eyes and keep going when he sees a pair of cops running right towards him.

 

“Shit,” he hisses, dropping his bag to the ground, and turning tail to run after the guy. Running after the stranger is a lot harder than he had first anticipated - the guy is fast as hell and Dean was not exactly a track star. He quickly loses sight of the guy but he can still hear the cops coming after him. About to give up and claim he has no knowledge of the guy, something grabs him by the shirt and yanks him off the street and into an alley.

 

“Shh,” the guy hisses, clamping a damp hand over his mouth. Dean tries not to even breathe too loudly as the cops catch up and glance around, clearly confused as to where they had both disappeared to. Dean can practically feel his heart stalling as he waits, ready to piss his pants from anticipation. Eventually, the cops and the clammy hand leave, allowing him to turn and face the stranger.

 

His eyes are what draw Dean in immediately. They’re huge and blue; like little blue moons, staring at him with real amusement. There’s a smirk along the guy’s face and Dean realizes they had to be close in age. He didn’t look that old at all.

 

“Hey, sorry about that,” the guy gasps, offering his hand up. “I’m Castiel, what’s your name?”

 

Dean glances down at Castiel’s hand before slowly accepting it; his fingers are like ice. The guy must have had some real circulation problems if he was freezing even after running like hell. “Dean,” he finally says with a firm shake. “What the hell did you _do_ , anyway?”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes and reveals a packet of cigarettes and a Zippo. “Bastards got pissed because I stole some shit from the Gas N’Sip up the road.” He takes a cigarette from its case and places it between his lips, cupping the end as he lights it. Dean watches as his face briefly alights with orange flame, only to die as the lighter is shoved into the pocket of his cut off vest.

 

“Oh,” Dean manages to say.

 

“Shtoopid,” Castiel slurs with the cigarette still in his mouth, finally reaching up to tag a drag and blow the smoke up over their heads. “Anyway, sorry for almost getting you arrested.”

 

Dean snorts and shrugs. “Hey, you gave me some fun for like five minutes, so thanks, I guess.”

 

Castiel grins delightedly. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

 

He nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, maybe.”

 

“Awesome.” Castiel pulls out a pen from some unseen pocket and scribbles his number hastily on Dean’s arm. “Call me.” Dean doesn’t miss the flirtatious lilt to Castiel’s tone as he heads off out of the alley; he wants to call the kid back, to tell him he isn’t like that, but they would both probably see through the lie.

 

 

 

Dean does not call Castiel for three days. Partially because he is too afraid and partially because he can’t find the time; he has a busy schedule with work and trying to put his younger brother through school was hard. Especially when the surrounding area continuously jacked up the prices of school fees.

 

By the third day, Dean finally breaks down and calls Castiel; he had put the number in his phone almost immediately after Castiel had disappeared from his line of sight that afternoon. However, now that he stood calling in his kitchen while attempting to make dinner, the realization that Castiel may not even remember him was almost real enough to make him hang up. In fact, he almost did hang up, but then someone answered, and Dean knew he couldn’t now.

 

“Hey,” he says after voice says _Hello_ for the third time. “Sorry- um… Is this Castiel?”

 

“Who’s asking?”

 

“It’s Dean… Dean Winchester. We met the other day-.”

 

“ _Oh_! Dean! Hi. I didn’t think you were going to call,” Castiel said, his voice losing its edge, immediately sliding into a friendlier tone.

 

“Well, to be honest with you, I almost didn’t,” he admits with an embarrassed laugh.

 

“Why not?” Castiel asks. Dean could hear the pout in his voice.

 

“Um, well, I’ve never really been honest with myself about who and what I want,” he says carefully. He could only hope that the ‘I am a very closeted gay male’ tone made its way across to Castiel’s ear. It did.

 

“ _Oh_ , I see… Well, we all start in the closet,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “What are you doing right now?”

 

“Making dinner for myself and my little brother… You, um, want to come over?” Anxious butterflies began to clamber around in his stomach, which made Dean feel even dumber. Since when did a boy get him worked up like this?

 

“Free food? Hell yeah, I won’t dare pass up free food,” Castiel says. “I will be over soon, Dean.”

 

“Great.” He hangs up, not even thinking. A moment later, he realizes Castiel doesn’t have his address and he facepalms so hard he almost knocks himself backward. _Stupid_.

 

He receives a text a moment later:

 

_would help if i had your address :P_

 

Dean blushes and replies clumsily. **Sorry. 144 N. 5th St.**

 

_ik where that is. be there soon xoxo_

 

The blush deepens along Dean’s cheeks and he almost drops his phone, only saving it because he hears Sam walk in through the front door.

 

“Dean?!”

 

“Kitchen!” he answers, quickly dumping the pasta into the boiling water. Tonight would _not_ be another takeout night if he could help it.

 

“Hey,” Sam says as he comes around the corner, a young girl following behind. “This is Jess, we have a project together. We’re gonna go work on it.”

 

Dean glances over the girl and tries not to smirk. “Sure, Sammy,” he says which makes Sam _glare_ at him.

 

“Sammy, huh?” Jess asks, running her fingers through his hair. “I like that.” She turns to go back to the stairs and Dean has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t burst into laughter.

 

“Shut up,” Sam growls at him anyway. “Don’t ruin this for me, Dean.”

 

“Only if you wrap it up.” Dean gives Sam the _look_. “I ain’t ready to be a damn uncle at twenty-two, okay?”

 

“Fine.”

 

“Thank you.” Smiling a little, Dean gives Sam a shove, watching him head off toward his “study date”. He remembered study dates and how they went - there was hardly any studying done. Ever. At least Sam wouldn’t be around to tease him about inviting a _boy_ over.

 

Speaking of Castiel, he shows up twenty minutes later, a bag of booze in hand. That makes Dean grin ear to ear. “I _like_ you,” he says, pointing at Castiel before letting him in. “Smart man.”

 

Castiel grins, popping his bubblegum as he walks past the threshold of the Winchester household. It wasn’t much, but Dean had inherited the house from his father, which had been the only good thing the drunk bastard had ever done for him _or_ Sam. That and taking off.

 

“I know, it ain’t much, but it’s ours,” Dean tells Castiel as he watches his guest look around the small living room.

 

“Nice TV though,” Castiel says, plopping down on the threadbare couch. They really needed a new one, but Dean hadn’t yet had the chance to go to Goodwill to scout one out. “How big?”

 

“Oh, um, sixty inch,” he replies before heading back toward the kitchen to keep an eye on the pasta. Their oven’s timer had stopped working ages ago, so being on top of dinner was a literal meaning in Dean’s house.

 

Castiel soon came to stand with him. “That’s nice. Wish we had one that big at home.”

 

Dean smirks and looks over at Castiel, his eyes roaming over his outfit; ripped up jeans, a loose, gray AC/DC t-shirt, and aviators hanging along the collar. “Only nice thing we got, to be honest.”

 

“Hey, I get it,” Castiel replies, walking over to sit on the counter, hoisting himself up onto it. “We live in a rougher neighborhood than this one, so I _totally_ get it.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. He means it too. No one should have to live in squalor just to keep a roof over their heads. “You work?”

 

“Me?” Castiel licks his lips and looks away, suddenly, clearly uncomfortable. “Nah.” He shakes his head. “Can’t.”

 

“Why not?” Dean asks, dumping the noodles into a strainer resting in the sink to drain the water from them.

 

“Just can’t.” The conversation ends at that and Dean doesn’t press. It’s not really his business anyway.

 

“Glad you came over,” he says, casting a smile back at Castiel. “It’s nice to have a guest who isn’t in high school.”

 

“Younger brother, you said, right?”

 

He nods. “Yep. Senior this year.”

 

“He ‘going places’?” Castiel asks, raising his fingers to do the air quotes.

 

“Yeah, actually, he is,” Dean says firmly, not missing Castiel’s sarcasm. “Sam’s really smart. He applied to Stanford for their pre-law program.”

 

“Damn, how’d you manage _that_ application fee?” Castiel asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

 

“Got it waived,” Dean replies, suddenly becoming less friendly. Castiel was judging them and Dean didn’t like it. “Why’s that matter?”

 

“I mean, just wondering... Sorry.” Castiel slides off of the counter to walk into the living room instead. Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face. Not even ten minutes and he was already mucking up his new… whatever Castiel was to him.

 

Dumping some noodles into a bowl, Dean drizzled some Ragu over it, doing the same for his own bowl, and then he follows Castiel to the living room. “Sorry,” he says, handing over a bowl. “Didn’t mean to get so defensive.”

 

“It’s okay.” Castiel accepts the bowl and spoon, smiling at the meal. “Smells good.”

 

Dean shrugs. “I ain’t much of a cook, so if it’s real bad, tell me. We can order pizza or somethin’.” He would have to dig into the Rainy Day Fund, but it’d be better than starving tonight.

 

“I’m sure it’s better than the nothing I’ve got at home,” Castiel replies, eagerly taking a bite of his meal. He emits a moan, his eyes shutting, as if the plain pasta and sauce had turned into a creme brulee.

 

“That good, huh?” Dean asks skeptically.

 

“Yes, actually,” Castiel admits, eagerly spooning more into his mouth. He eats so fast, Dean began to wonder when the last time Castiel had eaten previously.

 

“When’s the last time you had a meal?” he asks, still having not taken a bite of his own yet.

 

“I dunno,” Castiel says around a mouthful. “A week, maybe?”

 

“Jesus,” Dean hissed. That was the one thing he always promised Sam - a roof over his head and food in his belly. He never let Sam go without, even if it meant he had to. Quickly, Dean slides his bowl over to Cas with a smile. “Here, you need it more than me.”

 

“You sure?” Castiel asks, even as he takes the bowl eagerly.

 

“Yep.”

 

“Awesome. Thanks.”

 

Dean takes the time to look Castiel over as he eats. There was something _off_ about him, but Dean couldn’t quite place his finger on it. It was not just that he was hungrier than anyone he had ever met or that he was snarky and quick witted or even pretty. Something else laid beneath Castiel’s surface.

 

Dean shakes his head. It was pointless to dwell on something that was clearly not his business. He didn’t like drama anyway. Leaving Castiel to eat, Dean stands and heads upstairs to check on the lovebirds, making sure to knock loudly. Not that he could walk in, Sam had locked the door.

 

“What?!” Sam calls through the door, clearly annoyed.

 

“Dinner’s ready,” he says, “just wanted to tell you know.”

 

“Okay, whatever.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes, almost making a joke about making sure to eat plenty of protein and to take a break now and again to hydrate, but he knew Sam would not find it as funny as he would. Instead, Dean returns downstairs to collect the empty bowls from Castiel.

 

“You full?” he asks with a wink, his eyes falling to where Castiel had his hands on his distended stomach.

 

“Yep,” Castiel replies with a content smile. “Thanks, Dean.”

 

“No problem. Be back in a sec.”

 

He leaves Castiel in the living room to dump the bowls into the sink, scooping the pasta into some tupperware along with the sauce, mixing it all together, and then placing _that_ in the fridge. Sam and Jess could eat later and he wouldn’t probably eat all all; at least not if he got what he wanted. Smirking, Dean walks back into the living room, plopping down next to Cas on the couch.

 

“So,” he says, allowing the word to trail off with a unspoken question. They both know what it is.

 

“Give me time to digest,” Castiel says. “And then, yes. Hell yes.”

 

He smiles and nods, turning the TV on. “No problem.”

 

 

 

Castiel is _damn_ good at sex.

 

Better at sex than anyone else Dean has had the pleasure of sleeping with; not that he had been getting laid a hell of a lot since he had to take care of Sam. That still did not change the fact that Castiel is very good at sex. Specifically, Castiel is _excellent_ at giving head.

 

Dean allows his head to fall back against the couch, his body slumping, and dragging down until he can open his legs wide. He wanted to give Castiel all of the room in the world to work. His pants and boxers were at his ankles, and Castiel’s lips were skimming over his length, urging him to come. He has to bite back a groan as he feels his orgasm wash over him in pleasurable waves. He trails his eyes down his own body to where Castiel is swallowing him like a pro.

 

“Shit,” he whispers to the empty room. “You’re so fuckin’ good at this.”

 

Castiel eventually pulls away from him and Dean glimpses his own mess along his tongue. That’s enough of a visual to keep him half hard, his body thrumming with excitement. “What can I say, I’ve got practice.”

 

Dean licks his lips. He liked experienced lovers. He’s not a prude like some people. “Good,” he says, reaching to pull Castiel back up into his lap. “I like my lovers with experience.”

 

Castiel laughs and begins to push his jeans down and off, revealing himself to be commando. Dean grins at that, not allowing Cas to take the shirt off, just pulling him up to straddle his lap.

 

“I like the shirt,” he explains at Castiel’s tilt of his head. “It’s sexy on you.”

 

Castiel kisses him then, their tongues sliding together in a slobbery mess. Dean doesn’t care, his hands simply slide down to cup Castiel’s ass, feeling the smooth flesh for himself. His fingers skirt back to Castiel’s hole, tracing his rim, giving it taps and pats. Castiel whimpers and wriggles around, clearly enjoying each touch.

 

“ _You’re_ sexy,” Dean tells him fiercely. “All of you.”

 

“Look who’s talking,” Castiel pants back, shoving Dean’s shirt up until he can get to Dean’s chest and nipples. Each scrape of Castiel’s fingernails and each pinch of his fingers, make Dean moan and whimper, his cock hard against Castiel’s ass.

 

“I want in you,” he growls in Castiel’s ear, digging his nails into the meat of Castiel’s ass, making him whine.

 

“If you got a condom, then yes,” Castiel whispers back.

 

Dean nods. “Upstairs.”

 

Castiel giggles. “Then why the fuck are we still down here?”

 

Grinning, Dean digs his hands into Castiel’s butt, standing up, holding Castiel upright as he does. The movement makes Castiel gasp and wrap his arms around Dean’s neck. Together, they make their way to the stairs, making out the whole way up, slamming into things, tripping, and knocking picture frames off the wall in their wake. Each thump and bump makes Castiel giggle, and soon Dean is laughing with him; eventually, he pushes Castiel through his doorway, shutting the door behind him so Sam would not walk in on them.

 

Castiel grins and finally takes the shirt off, tossing it aside to reveal a lithe, young, and gorgeous body. But Dean’s eyes were not on Castiel’s stomach, cock, hips, or nipples. No, they had focused elsewhere. Dean frowns as he stares at the scar along Castiel’s chest; it’s long and directly in the middle, as if he had been cut open. Like a cadaver.

 

Castiel moves to cover his chest then, clearly self conscious, and Dean quickly blinks, yanking his eyes from the scar. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out quickly, trying to stop Castiel from pulling the shirt back on, but soon he is swimming in the gray fabric again. “I didn’t meant to stare.”

 

Castiel shrugs. “Everyone does,” he replies quietly.

 

Dean licks his lips. The mood had clearly dissipated and he had no idea what to do about it. So, instead, Dean decides to just ask. “What’s it from?”

 

“Surgery,” Castiel mutters.

 

“ _Surgery_?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What kind of surgery?”

 

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You always play twenty questions before fucking?”

 

So, maybe the mood had not disappeared after all. “Right, sorry.” He takes a step into Castiel’s space, wrapping his arms around his waist, pressing their mouths together hotly. Castiel kisses him back, raising up on his tiptoes so they were closer in height. Dean smiles against his mouth at that; he likes their height difference.

 

Dean could feel Castiel’s cock pressing against his hip, and he slides his hand down to feel him through the fabric of the shirt. Castiel moans and bites down on Dean’s bottom lip. Dean grunts and pushes Castiel back onto the bed, pressing his legs open wide to look at his hole. Healthily pink, Dean practically groans at the pornographic sight, but he snaps out of it long enough to grab a bottle of lube and a condom.

 

“Want me to put it on you?” Castiel asks, making him give pause. “I know some guys hate doing it.”

 

Dean shakes his head. “I got it, I ain’t a pussy about it.” This makes Castiel smile and rest back along his elbows, pulling the shirt up enough to reveal his stomach and cock. Dean feels his own twitch at the sight; Castiel should have been a porn star.

 

Condom on, Dean begins to prep his fingers with lube, sliding the wet along Castiel’s hole, until he can push one finger past his rim and inside. Castiel moans and arches, pressing into his touch for more. It isn’t long before Dean has three fingers inside of Castiel, stretching him open for his cock. They’re both panting and moaning, and then Castiel is pulling at his hips, wanting _more_. So, Dean removes his fingers and replaces them with his cock, moaning as Castiel stretched wider.

 

“Fuck, you’re big,” Castiel pants.

 

Dean grits his teeth, trying to smile, but the pleasure was too good, and he could only thrust quickly, staring up at the ceiling for a moment. It had been so long since he had gotten laid, he had forgotten how _good_ sex could be. And with a guy no less.

 

“Fuck, fuck,” Castiel whimpers, biting on his lower lip. Dean drops his gaze back down on Cas, smiling at how Castiel grips his own chest, teasing his nipples through his shirt, until he throws his head back, and shoves his heads up the shirt to feel his own skin. Dean thrusts faster.

 

“I’m gonna come,” Castiel whines, his voice rising an octave.

 

“Good,” Dean growls, nodding eagerly. He wants Castiel to finish; he wants to feel Castiel squeeze the orgasm right out of him. “Fucking come, you gorgeous slut.”

 

Castiel cries out loudly, his body jerking as he comes, indeed squeezing Dean just right. Dean’s own cries and groans follow suit, as does his cum; the only feeling Dean misses is the feeling of filling someone up. He wants to come inside of Castiel, but that would be stupid, so he deals with the condom. Breathing heavily, Dean slowly pulls out, staring at Castiel’s stretched hole. It was still clenching with orgasm. Dean smiles and slowly removes the condom, leaning over to tie it and dump it into the trash.

 

They both needed a shower, but for now, Dean lays down beside Castiel and lets them both relax. He does not ask about the scar again.

 

 

Dean does not wake up again until morning. Castiel is gone. He isn’t surprised; it was not as if they had a contract on how to treat their relationship anyway. Sore and tired, Dean slowly rolls out of bed and stumbles to find a pair of boxers, picking some off the floor, giving them a sniff. He recoils but puts them on anyway; he needed to do laundry and shower. The house is eerily quiet and Dean begins to wonder what time is it; had he slept through Sam’s morning routine?

 

Opening the door, Dean pads to the bathroom to piss, practically groaning at the pleasure radiating through his body from the relief. “Sam?” he calls as he finishes, wondering if he had indeed slept through Sam’s alarm. Sighing, Dean rinses his hands with water and shakes them dry, walking out of the bathroom and down the steps to check the time.

 

9:06

 

He _had_ missed Sam’s morning routine.

 

“Shit,” he whispers, rubbing his eyes. Castiel had taken a lot of out of him. There were times when Dean did not feel as young as twenty-two; now was one of those times.

 

His phone began to ring, making him jump out of his skin. He checks the caller ID: BOBBY SINGER. Jumping, Dean picks up, hoping Bobby had more hours for him to pick up. “This is Dean,” he says quickly.

 

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Bobby replies darkly. “You’re late.”

 

Dean blinks. “What?” he asks, unable to process the statement. “Bobby it’s Thursday, it’s my day off…”

 

“ _Tomorrow_ is Thursday, ya idjit. Get yer ass in here right now, so I don’t have to fire ya.” THe line clicks and Dean jumps into action, turning to rush up the stairs, almost tripping over strewn clothing.

 

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

 

He can’t lose this job; he can’t _afford_ to lose this job. Especially since it paid above minimum wage, which was a hell of a lot better than he had been making previously. Throwing on clothes, Dean tried to grab his jumpsuit, searching in vain for his keys. Where the fuck had his keys gone?!

 

“Swear to God Sam, if you took your girlfriend to school in my fucking car-.” _Keys_! Dean snatches them off the floor where they had fallen and rushes back downstairs and out the door again. Probably breaking six traffic laws, Dean ends up at Singer’s Auto, unsure of how _late,_ late had become.

 

Bobby doesn’t even bother to glance up at him as he rushes in, yanking on his uniform in a rush. “You were supposed to be in at eight,” Bobby says, finally glancing up from his books. “It’s now,” Bobby pauses to glance at the clock, “Half past nine. You gonna make this a habit, Dean?”

 

“No,” he says quickly, ready to fall to his knees and beg for his job. “I swear, I won’t be this late again. I won’t be late _ever_ again. I just- I slept through Sam’s routine and I slept through my own alarm, I’m so sorry.”

 

Bobby purses his lips, thinking the excuses over. “I ain’t a fan of excuses, boy.”

 

“I _swear_ , Bobby. Never late again.” Dean stares at him, only able to hope the desperation came across. “I _really_ appreciate and need this job. Please, don’t fire me.”

 

Bobby sighs and jerks his head back toward the garage. “Get to work, ya idjit.”

 

“ _Thank_ you!” Dean rushes past Bobby and out into the garage, his eyes falling on the car that needed the most work. If he had to stay late to make up the hours, so be it, which Dean figures is better than being fired.

 

“Where were _you_?” comes Jo’s voice, making him startle.

 

“Asleep,” he replies darkly, keeping his eyes on the engine. He knows engines; he knows engines like they’re his own body.

 

She comes to stand beside him, hand on her hip, hair up in a messy bun. “Yeah? And Singer let you stay on?”

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” he snarls. “Clearly, or I wouldn’t be standing here, now would I? I may be stupid, Jo, but I ain’t _that_ stupid.”

 

Jo rolls her eyes. “So, when we hooking up, Winchester?”

 

Dean did like Jo; she could be a very nice and kind young woman, but she was not his type. Mainly because they worked together and she was sixteen. She worked at her uncle’s shop because she had dropped out of school when her dad had died and her mom had had a breakdown. Bobby didn’t like her not being in school, but she was studying for her GED, which was better than nothing.

 

“Never,” he says firmly, continuing to work on the car.

 

“Why not?” she asks.

 

“Aren’t you tired of this conversation yet?” he retorts. “Cuz I am.”

 

“Aw c’mon Dean, I can be a _bad_ girl if you want,” she whispers in his ear; he hates that his cock is stirring. He hates it so much. “Or a good girl… I’m not sure what you want.”

 

Dean shakes his head. “No, Jo.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Screw you, Dean.”

 

He doesn’t reply, he just lets her walk away, and continues to go about his own work. Part of him wants to sleep with her, which is the worst part _ever_. He turns his mind back to Castiel, trying to banish Jo from his thoughts. Castiel had been wonderful in bed; the perfect match. He just hopes that he will hear from Castiel again and soon.

 

Thinking on Castiel worked to remove Jo from his thoughts, but it only made him horny, which wasn’t good either. He couldn’t exactly leave work to go and jerk it, even if that sounded _wonderful_. His erection kept rubbing against his jumpsuit and the zipper of his jeans. Dean drew in a deep breath though his nose, attempting to banish the boner from his body. The more he thought on it, the worse it became, and he could feel it growing harder, redder, needier.

 

Dean glances over his shoulder to see where Jo is, seeing her standing with his back to him, Dean dashes toward the bathroom, locking the door firmly in his wake. Unzipping the uniform, Dean practically yanks the button off of his jeans, allowing the zipper to open, and then his hand is wrapping around his hot flesh and he moans with relief. His mind turns to Castiel and how beautiful he had been the night previous, but eventually, Dean stops thinking about Castiel. Instead, he focuses on his own pleasure and the way it builds beneath his flesh like a fuse about to be set off.

 

Dean breathes heavily through his nose to keep from whimpering and moaning, his hand stroking his cock slowly. His foreskin had already pulled back, and his cock felt more sensitive than usual. He braces a hand against the wall to keep upright, his eyes slowly rising to meet his own gaze in the mirror, breathing heavier. Precome barely slicks the passage of his palm along his flesh and the bit of pain he feels from the burn made it better. Dean bites his lip and speeds up, staring at the sight of his cock in the mirror, the head red and wet.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he whines softly. If he had not been at work, he could have taken the time to finger himself, opening up his ass until he came, but he did not have such luxuries. Toes curling tightly in his shoes, Dean bites down on his knuckles to keep from crying out loudly as he came in white strips, painting the mirror and sink. His cheeks flushed at the sight. Bobby’s voice calling his name made him yank out of the post-orgasmic bliss, and he had to wash up the mess as fast as possible.

 

“Dean? Where the hell did he go?”

 

Stuffing himself back in his pants, Dean tosses the paper towels away and splashes cold water on his face to end the blush along his cheeks. If Bobby knew he had been jerking off at work, then he really _would_ be fired.

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes as he walks out of the bathroom. “Nature called.” Well, he was not exactly _lying_.

 

Bobby gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t comment further. “Got some guy out front, asking for you.”

 

Dean frowns but he heads out front anyway. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees who is standing there. He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw, grinding his teeth to keep from just punching the bastard. “The fuck do you want?” he snaps angrily.

 

“To apologize,” comes the answer slowly. “I… I needed to see you.”

 

“Get the fuck out.” Dean walks over and finally snatches the guy by the lapels, walking him out of the room. “I said I didn’t want to see you again and I fucking meant it.” Spitting in his face, Dean turns and walks back into the garage, having to calm his hammering heart with deep breathing. Bobby is staring at him with concern.

 

“Who was that, Dean?” Bobby asks quietly.

 

Dean slowly opens his eyes and shakes himself all over. Even being in the same room as _him_ made his skin crawl. “My father,” he replies angrily before storming back to work.

 

 

 

Sam’s face is one of worry when Dean picks him up from school later that day; Bobby had let him go early because of ‘emotional distress’. Dean spent the rest of the afternoon getting drunk. Driving to get Sam had been a stupid idea, but he had done it anyway.

 

“Dean, are you _drunk_?” Sam asks as he walks up to the car.

 

“Yeah,” he admits with a shrug. “Dad came by the shop.”

 

“...Shit,” Sam says. “Move, I’m driving home.” Dean obliges and slides over, allowing Sam behind the wheel. “You okay?”

 

“Do I look okay?” he asks, grabbing another bottle off of the floor to drink.

 

“Jesus _Christ_ , Dean!” Sam gasps, quickly taking the bottle and putting it back on the floor. “At least wait until we’re not in a high school parking lot.”

 

Dean blushes and shuts his eyes, trying not to think so hard. “Sorry,” he mumbles tiredly. Sam takes off and soon Dean has the bottle in hand again, taking long swigs.

 

“Dean, stop,” Sam begs. “C’mon, it’s _okay_. He isn’t going to hurt either of us anymore. _Don’t_ be like him!”

 

That makes Dean pause and he stares at the bottle angrily. One of the things he had inherited from his father was his penchant for alcohol. Mumbling another apology, Dean stashes the booze under the seat. “Hide it from me when we get home. S’more upstairs under my bed… and in the bathroom cabinet.”

 

“Okay,” Sam replies. Dean knows Sam will dump the alcohol down the drain, but he didn’t care. It needed to be _gone_. “So, um, did I tell you that I got an A on my physics test?”

 

“You _did_?” Dean asks, trying to banish his bad mood away. He needed sobering up desperately. “Sammy, let’s go to Waffle House. I gotta sop up this shit.”

 

“‘Kay,” Sam replies, turning down a street too soon so they can head back into town. “So, who was the guy?”

 

“What guy?” he asks, flinching as the car bounces roughly over the holes in the road. “Careful, Sam!”

 

“Sorry,” Sam whines, trying to steer clear of the potholes. “Not my fault our neighborhood sucks balls... The guy. The guy who left your room this morning? Who was he?”

 

“Oh shit… You saw him?” Dean asks, flinching again. _Damn it_. He always tried not to have sex with Sam in the house. “I’m sorry, Sammy, I fucked up…”

 

“Dean it’s _okay_ , you’re allowed to have sex, you're an adult,” Sam says insistently, “And I’m eighteen, I’m not a kid anymore. I was _never_ a kid.”

 

Dean sighs heavily. “Sorry ‘bout that too.”

 

“That is not your fault.” They pull into the Waffle House’s parking lot, but neither of them move to get out of the car. “That’s on Dad. Not you.”

 

Dean cracks his eyes open to look over at Sam and he even gives him a small smile. Leave it to Sam to  make him feel better. “Thanks, Sammy,” he mutters. “I needed that.”

 

“Well, I mean it.” Sam climbs out of the car and walks over to yank Dean’s door open, catching him before he can fall out onto his head. “So, who was the guy?” he prompts again.

 

Dean groans. “You ain’t gonna let that go, are you?”

 

“Not until you tell me.”

 

“His name is Castiel. I met him… on accident and we hit it of… That’s all there is to it.”

 

“Gonna see him again?”

 

“I fucking hope so.” Dean allows Sam to walk him inside and help him sit in a booth. He just hopes the waitress doesn’t flirt with him, since they usually did; he just wasn’t in the mood to flirt back.

 

“He was nice,” Sam comments. “We talked a bit in the morning when I woke up. I think my alarm woke him up, he didn’t seem like a morning person. I made him coffee and then he said before I left he had to go.”

 

“He say where?” Dean asks, frowning a little.

 

“Nope. I didn’t ask either, I just figured it was a one night stand deal or something.” Sam shrugs and hands Dean a menu to peruse.

 

Dean grunts and stares at the menu, but he doesn’t read it. His mind is too distracted by the idea of Castiel hanging out with Sam and Sam thinking him ‘nice’. What did that even mean? Had he and Sam been buddy buddy this morning? Did Sam accept him being bisexual? _Clearly_ , he thinks annoyedly. _He’d call you a pussy faggot if he didn’t._

 

“Dean, are you sure you’re… I mean, you look really upset,” Sam whispers, leaning across the table.

 

Dean blushes and glares at his menu. Being an open book was never a good thing. “I just… Got a lot on my mind is all, Sam.”

 

“What’d Dad want?”

 

Dean twists his mouth as if he had taken a bite of a lemon. “To ‘apologize’. Whatever the fuck that means. Glad I changed the locks.”

 

“Yeah…” Sam trails off and Dean slowly glances up. “It’s just-.”

 

“What?” Dean asks, suddenly very aware.

 

“I mean, sometimes, I kinda miss him. I guess.” Sam shrugs. “He wasn’t _always_ bad, Dean.”

 

Dean stammers. Sam could have stabbed him in the heart and it would have been less of a shock. “You… _miss_ him? Jesus, Sam! He never took care of you! _I_ did!”

 

“Dean, shhh,” Sam whispers, glancing around at the room. “Not so loud.”

 

“No!” Dean slams the menu down on the table and stands, pointing a finger at him angrily. “Who do you think _raised_ you, huh?! It wasn’t John fucking Winchester, I’ll tell you that right now!”

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam hisses, standing up to make him sit back down. “Stop it. We’re in _public_.”

 

“Oh, oh, am I _embarrassing_ you Sammy?!”

 

“ _Yes_. You’re going to get us kicked _out_.”

 

Dean could feel his hands balling into fists, but he did his best to ignore them. “How could you _miss_ him?” he asks, lowering his voice to a normal level.

 

“Because he was our Dad,” Sam replies with a helpless shrug. “It’s not like I miss what he did to you… I just… I miss when he was good.”

 

“That good guy? That wasn’t our _Dad_. That was just some fake bullshit he’d pull on us to manipulate us emotionally, Sam.” Dean shakes his head and picks up the menu to read again. Slowly, the restaurant returns to normal, and they don’t talk about John again.

 

 

Castiel comes by later that evening, this time bearing a bag of chips and salsa. Dean still greets with him a smile, stepping aside to let him in.

 

“Sorry I didn’t call,” Castiel says, biting his lip. “I just… I don’t know, I just wanted to come over and the worst thing you could do was say ‘not tonight’, so I took a chance.”

 

“Hey, I’m always down for food and sex,” Dean replies and then wishes he could have taken that back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply-.”

 

“Oh, no, I definitely came over for sex.” Castiel winks and takes the chips and salsa back to the kitchen. Dean relaxes.

 

“I had a pretty shitty day, so if I can’t get it up easily, I’m sorry.” Dean follows behind him, hands shoved in his pockets with shame. “My Dad came around and it was just… Rough day.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Castiel’s eyebrows knitted together for a moment. “That sucks.”

 

“You got _no_ idea,” he growls tiredly.

 

Castiel steps into his space and presses a kiss to his lips. “You want me to blow you?” he whispers heatedly. Dean’s dick practically lifts its head as if it had been personally addressed. He nods and Castiel gets on his knees right there in the kitchen.

 

_Do not picture him as your personal sex slave. That’s just_ fucked _up._ Of course, that doesn’t help Dean _not_ think about it, so he simply imagines coming home to Castiel every day and receiving a blowjob on demand. He groans at the thought and it’s not long before he’s coming, which is more embarrassing than anything else. Castiel doesn’t mind, he whimpers, and makes the happiest noises as he laps Dean up, swallowing him down like his favorite food.

 

Dean gulps and braces his hand against the fridge to stay upright, his bowlegs bowing even further. “Son of a bitch,” he growls, running his fingers through Castiel’s hair, pulling him off of his cock with a firm grip. “You get me off too fast, you slut.”

 

Castiel’s eyes close and he smiles. Dean practically imagines him purring and his mind takes a final leap into the dirtiest gutter imaginable. “I’m glad you enjoy me so much,” Castiel says.

 

Dean releases him and fixes his clothes, taking a few steps back to recover. “Where’d you go this morning?” he asks, honestly curious.

 

“Home,” Castiel replies.

 

“You didn’t have to run off so early though-.”

 

“No, I did,” Castiel says quickly. “It’s no big deal.”

 

“You gonna do that again today?” The question makes Castiel blush in shame. “Right. Okay… Wanna… watch TV or something?”

 

“Sure,” Castiel whispers. They both realize the mood is gone and go to watch Netflix instead. They watch a few movies in mostly silence, sitting close enough to touch, but not doing so. By the end, Dean glances over at Castiel, his eyes lingering on his chest where he knows is a scar that has an untold story.

 

“You’re staring,” Castiel comments, drawing him out of his reverie, making him blush. A smile flickers over Castiel’s face, but it’s not happy. “Maybe I should go.”

 

Dean frowns, grasping onto Castiel’s hand without meaning to. “No,” he whispers, “Please don’t go.”

 

Castiel frowns. “You want me to stay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They share a moment staring at one another, Dean not letting go of Castiel’s hand and Cas not pulling away. They lean in closer and closer until they’re almost kissing; Dean can feel Castiel’s breath along his face and he was certain Castiel could count the freckles along his nose. Their lips went to touch tentatively, trembling with want and desire, but Sam clomping down the stairs, made them both yank away. Dean releases Castiel’s hand and Cas gets up and leaves the house completely, slamming the door in his wake.

 

“Did I interrupt something?” Sam asks, sounding guilty.

 

Dean stares up at the ceiling, his hand resting where Castiel had been sitting a moment ago. “Yeah,” he admits weakly.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry-.”

 

“It’s okay. Forget it.” Dean sits up and runs a hand over his face.

 

“Was that Cas again?” Sam asks tentatively.

 

“Yeah… I think… I don’t know what I think.” He had never had a tension so taut between him and another person before Castiel; the air grew so thick around them at times Dean wondered if the atmosphere would snap.

 

Sam walks around to sit beside him slowly on the opposite end Castiel had been in moments ago. “You know, I saw his face in the yearbook the other day,” Sam comments slowly. “He didn’t graduate or something… There’s something wrong with him.”

 

Dean almost snorts in agreement and then realizes Sam isn’t talking about Castiel’s commitment issues. He looks over at his brother in surprise. “How do you know that?”

 

“I was talking to some people the other day… Cas was supposed to graduate three years ago. Some chick knows him from school… She’s kinda really stupid so she hasn’t graduated yet, but she knew him. Said he dropped out. He’s sick or something.”

 

The words resonated with Dean as his mind flew back to the scar on Castiel’s chest. “With what?” he asks.

 

“I don’t know, but I can ask her tomorrow. See if she knows?” Sam suggests slowly and Dean nods in agreement. “Okay. I’ll let you know more when I can.”

 

Dean nods and Sam gets up to go to the kitchen. Maybe it’s wrong prying into Castiel’s life without him knowing, but Dean _had_ to know. He had to know as much as he could. Castiel was like a puzzle needing unraveling and since Dean knew how guarded Cas could be, he also knew he couldn't just _ask_. But maybe by tomorrow he would know something more.

 

 

Working on Baby helps take his mind off of his life while Sam is at school. However, it doesn’t help when a car appears at the end of the driveway and his jaw clenches at who gets out. He has no desire to confront his father today but Dean clenches his hands around the wrench in his hand anyway. John approaches slowly like a wounded animal, afraid of the predator about to pounce. Good.

 

“Dean,” he says slowly, “hear me out?”

 

“I got _nothing_ to say to you,” Dean snarls, allowing Baby’s hood to fall shut.

 

“Please, Dean-.”

 

“You don’t _get_ to talk to me!” he roars, straightening up as slowly, pushing his shoulders back, puffing up his chest. John should recognize the stance since he had been the one to teach it to Dean. “Get the fuck out before I call the cops.”

 

“Dean, I got no one to turn to, you really gonna turn away your own blood?” John asked daring to take a step closer.

 

“You’re not my blood,” Dean growls, spitting at his father’s feet. “Get _off_ of my property.”

 

John freezes to the spot he’s in, copying Dean’s stance by shoving his own shoulders back and straightening his spine. The soldier’s stance. “Dean, I want to see Sam.”

 

Dean laughs. “Hell _no_.”

 

“He’s my son, he’s eighteen, he’s allowed to make his own decisions now.”

 

“You gave _up_ your parental rights. I’m Sam’s guardian.”

 

“He’s an adult now, in the eyes of the law,” John replies smoothly. “He can make his own damn decisions.”

 

“I swear to God, old man, if you don’t get off of my _fucking_ property I’m going to take this wrench and beat your face with it.” Never in his life had Dean ever been brave enough to talk back to his father; not until his father had pulled the last straw. Beating him to the point of sending him to the ER had finally done the trick; now he did not fear his father.

 

“Dean-.”

 

“ _Dad_?”

 

Dean felt his heart stop in his chest; he had been so focused on John he had not seen Sam come home. “Sam, get inside.”

 

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Sam asks, ignoring Dean completely. John turns and takes steps toward Sam, but Sam retreats the same amount John takes, leaving them at the same distance apart. Dean smirks slightly.

 

“I came to see you, Sam,” John admits. “And to see Dean, but Dean doesn’t want anything to do with me… But what about you, Sammy? My precious baby boy-.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean snaps, feeling sick to his stomach. “You weren’t _ever_ his father, don’t act so fucking innocent now, you piece of fucking trash.”

 

John ignores him, opening his arms for Sam. “I’m sorry Sam, I’m sorry… Your brother is right, I was never there for either of you and I want to make up for that now. I got a job, I’m clean now. Been clean for two years. I got a pretty nice place on the North side of town… I’d love to have you both over sometime.”

 

Dean could see the mixture of feelings pass over Sam’s face; it broke Dean’s heart. Sam bit his lip and ran a hand over his hair, finally speaking slowly, “I’m going to Standford.”

 

Dean’s jaw drops. “Whoa, _what_?!”

 

Sam holds up the letter, which had been in his hand the entire time. “I got the letter today,” he says with a proud smile.

 

Dean opens his mouth to congratulate Sam, ready to rush at him and hug him as tight as possible, but his father gasps and ruins it for him. “That’s _great_!” John exclaims, smiling hugely. “That’s great, Sam, I’m proud of you.”

 

Dean’s fists clench. John had nothing to do with Sam’s successes; _he_ did, not John. “Sam, come inside, we’ll order your favorite-.”

 

Sam blushes and holds up the letter for his father to read, daring to get closer. “See?”

 

“That’s great, Son,” John says and Dean can hear the sincerity. It makes jealousy spark in his heart. “I’m proud of you… Can I hug you? Is that okay?” Dean watches Sam nod shyly and then John is hugging and kissing Sam’s temple. Dean seethes in silence.

 

“Dad, I really _missed_ you,” Sam sobs, clinging to their father’s jacket. “I missed you while you were gone… Are you really better?”

 

“Yes,” John says firmly, hands on Sam’s shoulders. “I am. And… I know Dean won’t believe me, but I hope you’ll at least let me show you.”

 

Sam smiles weakly through his tears. “I love you, Dad.”

 

John smiles back and even though Dean can’t see his face, he knows there are tears to mirror Sam’s. “I love you too, Sammy.”

 

Bile builds in the back of Dean’s throat and he throws the wrench down to the ground, making them both jump, before turning and storming back into the house. Of course his father comes back to ruin everything. It wouldn’t be the perfect family reunion without John ruining something. Once inside, Dean angrily knocks papers and books from the table by the garage door, ready to pull his own hair from his head. He wants to scream but that would only result in a call to the cops.

 

“Dean?” comes Sam’s tentative voice, sounding honestly afraid.

 

Forcibly calming himself, Dean slowly turns to look at his brother, relieved to see John _not_ with him. “What?” he asks, his voice heavier than he intended.

 

“Dad wants to take me to dinner, can I go?” Sam asks slowly.

 

Dean shrugs. “You’re _eighteen_ now,” he snarls coldly, “you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

 

“Dean-.”

 

“Just _go_ , Sam!” He points to the door, not wanting to deal with his father today or ever. Sam nods and walks out, tears shimmering in his eyes. Once Sam is gone, Dean picks up the nearest object and throws it at the wall with a yell. He wants to break more stuff, but he stops himself, instead turning and picking up the phone to call Castiel.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greets him on the second ring. The words make a calm wash over him. “Were your ears burning?”

 

Dean smiles slightly. “You want to go do something?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. Pick you up in an hour? I have to shower first.”

 

“Sounds great. I’ll text you my address.”

 

“See you in an hour.” Dean hangs up and relaxes. Castiel will make him feel better, Dean can just feel it.

 

 

Castiel had not been lying when he had told Dean he lived in a rougher neighborhood than the Winchesters did. Castiel’s house looked as if it had seen better days and their lawn desperate need of a mowing. Steeling himself, Dean slides out of the car and walks up to the front gate, slowly unlatching it; it squeaks its protest as he walks up to the front door to knock.

 

“It’s open!” a voice calls through the door, so Dean lets himself in. The inside is a mess, and Dean hesitates to step inside. One thing Dean did not like is a messy house; it gave him chills.

 

The man to walk around the corner made Dean blink in confusion and surprise. The man looks like Castiel but Dean can tell it’s _not_ Castiel. “You’re not…”

 

“I’m Jimmy,” the man replies as he offers his hand. “Castiel’s twin.”

 

Castiel had never mentioned having a twin. “Oh,” he says lamely as he takes his hand. “Cas never…”

 

“Yeah, he’s a quiet one, Cas is.” Jimmy winks and turns to call up the stairs to Castiel. “He should be down soon. Sorry for the mess.”

 

Dean nods, trying to stand away from the grime and trash. Eventually, Castiel came traipsing down the steps, a smile plastered on his face. Dean returns the smile even if it is not as heartfelt.

 

“You’re upset,” Castiel says immediately, walking up to press a kiss to his cheek. “What is it?” Castiel’s hand cups his face and Dean presses his cheek into Cas’ palm eagerly.

 

“Dad came by,” he whispers. “Took Sam out… Sam got into Stanford, can you believe it?”

 

Castiel’s smile returns. “That’s _wonderful_.”

 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Should be _me_ taking Sam out, not _him_.”

 

“What do you want to do?” Castiel asks then, petting Dean’s hair absentmindedly. “We can do anything you want.”

 

Dean half smiles and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “I got an idea but it’s weird.”

 

Castiel shrugs. “I like weird.”

 

“Okay. Let’s go.” Dean turns and heads outside, not wanting to be in Castiel’s house anymore than he had to be. They walk out to the car and Dean gets Castiel’s door, feeling gentlemanly. Castiel flashes him a smile and slides into the car, Dean quick to follow him.

 

The questions he has for Cas burns on the tip of his tongue, but he stays quiet, instead driving them into the heart of the city. As a child he had always looked forward to going to the city; it had always been a trip full of wonders and joy. He did not enjoy the city as much now, but Dean felt determined to do something fun for himself. Just this once.

 

“You gonna give me a hint, Mr Silent?” Castiel asks with a giggle. “Or not?”

 

“I haven’t really done this in ages,” Dean says slowly, parking the car in a parking garage. “You’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

 

Castiel shrugs. “That’s okay. I like to live life on the wildside.”

 

Dean smiles and they climb out of the car. He even dares to take Castiel’s hand as they walk off toward the train station and tracks. “See the overpass?” he asks, pointing towards it.

 

“Yeah,” Castiel admits, the lilt in his voice a question.

 

“I used to hang out under it with Sam sometimes.”

 

Castiel pauses in mid step. “Wait, under the train tracks?”

 

“Yeah, it’s fun.” Dean pulls Castiel toward the train eagerly. “C’mon.”

 

“Dean, I don’t know…”

 

Dean glances back at Castiel. “We can lay on my jacket, you won’t be cold. It gets loud but it’s like… the best way to just forget about everything, ya know? You said anything I wanted and that you like weird. C’mon, Cas.”

 

Castiel bites his lip and nods, allowing Dean to lay his jacket on the ground and then they’re lying together beneath the tracks. Dean smiles and pulls Castiel close, resting with his eyes shut, until he felt the ground vibrate, and the rumble of the train grew closer. Castiel gasps as the train rolls overhead, but Dean holds onto him, laughing as the tracks roar. The noise consumes them both and Dean allows it to take him away; there is no John, no Sam, there is _nothing._

 

He just is.

 

Dean breathes out in one whoosh and relaxes as the noise fades away. He smiles and glances down at Castiel. “Fun, ye-.” He cuts off when he sees Castiel gasping, trying to sit up. “Cas? Cas, what’s wrong?!”

 

Castiel’s hand digs out something from under his shirt. A necklace. A pendant. Red. Dean pulls out his phone, staring at the red little necklace.

 

_heart patient_

 

When the 911 operator connects him, Dean is practically in tears. “Yeah, my friend, he’s- he’s having a-a heart attack or something- I don’t know- Yes… He’s conscious… He has this… necklace, thing...  We’re under the overpass off of 31st… Yes, I’ll try to keep him awake-.”

 

Castiel continues to struggle for air and Dean can’t think straight. He’s crying and wishing he knew what to do. There had been so much noise before and now there is none. It’s a deafening silence, except for Castiel’s gasps. The sirens are like a war cry and when the EMTs swarm, Dean falls back, letting them get Castiel into the ambulance.

 

“Are you coming, Sir?” one of them asks. “If so, we have to go now. Or you can meet us-.”

 

“I’ll meet you,” Dean says. “Go, please-.” They nod and tell him where to go, but soon they’re leaving and Dean is left to sit on top of his coat and stare around him in silence. He needs to go, but he can’t move. How had he missed such an oversight in Castiel’s life? Of _course_ Castiel is a heart patient - it explained his scar and his attitude. It did not explain all of his behavior - the smoking, the squalor, the running from the cops… or maybe it did.

 

Maybe Castiel had given up and did not care. His disease, whatever it happened to be, will kill him and maybe Castiel was just trying to outrace it. Feeling sick, Dean goes back to the car and drives to the hospital, only to wait in the waiting room. He turns his mind off, or at least he tries to, clutching his coat tightly in his hands. It feels like hours until a woman walks up to him. A nurse.

 

“Sir?”

 

He looks up and stands quickly. “Is Cas okay?” he asks, his voice on the breaking point.

 

She nods. “He’ll be okay. For now.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Are you family?” she asks.

 

He knew this line; if he said yes, they could give him information, but if he said no, they couldn’t. “No,” he admits, not wanting to lie.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t-.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” he whispers, feeling his shoulders slump. “Can you at least tell me what’s wrong with him? I didn’t even know he was sick.”

 

“Your friend has a list of heart problems,” she says slowly. “He has had Congestive Heart Failure more than once.”

 

Dean stares, completely blown away. “What’s wrong with his heart?”

 

“He has Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome… He had a transplant early on in his life, but unfortunately, his body keeps rejecting his new hearts. Right now, he has CHF, that’s really all I can tell you, I’m sorry.” She gives him a sympathetic look before leaving him in the waiting room to stare after her in shock.

 

Dean feels his knees give out and he falls back into the chair. His hands shake. His body breaks out into sweats. He’s going to be sick. A nurse rushes over to help him but he can’t help but vomit on the floor. Eventually, Dean allows them to take him to a bed to lay down. He needs it.

 

 

 

“Hey, loser.”

 

Dean opens his eyes and looks over at Castiel in shock. “Cas-.” He sits up quickly, almost too quickly, his head swims. “Shouldn’t you be in bed! I mean, you had heart failure-.”

 

“I didn’t have heart failure… I was in the pre-stages, they were able to get me back to being stable. I’m fine,” Castiel says with a shake of his head. He looks at Dean tiredly, but he has a weak smile on his face.

 

“Cas, why didn’t you _tell_ me you had heart disease?” he asks, feeling his own heart shattering. He did not know Cas very well but that did not stop him from hurting and feeling afraid for him.

 

“Because,” Castiel snaps angrily, “because of how it’ll change you.”

 

“What?”

 

Castiel gestures at his face. “You get this _look_. Everyone does… as soon as someone knows i’m dying, people change. They look at me funny, and I didn’t want that anymore.”

 

“Should you even… I mean, you were smoking and-.”

 

“I know,” Castiel says, his voice still angry. “I was having sex and smoking and running, and yeah, it was bad for me, but I’m sick of not doing something I want to do because it’ll cut my years down! Do you have any idea how awful it is to be ruled by a bodily organ?”

 

Dean gulps and shakes his head no. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to lecture you-.”

 

“I know… I know you’re not.” Castiel sighs, running a hand over his face. “I don’t have a lot of time left, at least, they don’t think so. Not with the way I keep going. I just… wanted some good times before I had to go for good.”

 

Tears form in Dean’s eyes and he can’t stop them from falling. He doesn’t want to cry but the idea of Cas checking out early made everything hurt. “That’s not fair,” he cries, “you shouldn’t have to die… I thought… I thought heart transplants were good-.”

 

“They are,” Castiel admits tiredly, “usually. I’ve rejected three hearts in my lifetime… They can’t seem to find one to stick.” He shrugs. “Can’t find the right blood type or something, I don’t know.”

 

“You got a rare type or somethin’?” Castiel nods and Dean reaches over to take Castiel’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not,” Castiel whispers, raising his eyes to meet Dean’s with a genuine smile. “I mean, yeah, it sucks, but it brought me to you, so I think that gives it some perks, I guess.”

 

Dean blushes and squeezes Castiel’s hand shyly. “Promise me you’ll stop smoking at least?”

 

Castiel laughs and nods. “Okay. I mean, I’ve only done it a few times, I’m not _exactly_ suicidal… and I’m allowed to have sex, I just have to not be very strenuous is all. Nothing super active.”

 

Dean snaps his fingers. “So, I guess I’ll leave the sex swing in the closet then.” Castiel laughs again and soon Dean is laughing with him, feeling so comfortable. Everything felt right; he forgot about John hanging out with Sam.

 

“I like you Dean,” Castiel whispers, lifting Dean’s hand to kiss his fingers. “A lot.”

 

He nods in agreement. “I like you too.” He cups Castiel’s cheek. “A lot.”

 

“I suppose you wanna know all about Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, huh?”

 

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

 

 

Dean goes home feeling lost.

 

Castiel has a fatal heart condition. He had a transplant early on in his life to help prevent his own early death, but now his donor hearts aren’t doing well in his body.

 

Castiel has a list of things he _cannot_ do. Some of them he does anyway, with minor adverse effects.

 

  1. No strenuous activity


  *               i.e. running (running from the cops _that one time_ may not have been so good after all)
  *               competitive sports (Castiel has no qualms about this)
  *               strenuous sexual activity (No BDSM for Cas anytime soon)
  *               Standing for long periods of time (why Castiel cannot work)



  2. No smoking   
  3. No caffeine (Castiel likes to drink coffee and has a hard time saying no to Starbucks)   
  4. No illegal drugs or substances (he has to be careful with over the counter meds too)   
  5. Being surprised is a no-go (no surprise birthday parties, no sir)

 

Castiel hates being defined by his disease and Dean does not blame him. He doesn’t like being defined by his father’s alcoholism or his predisposition for it, too.

 

Castiel’s heart is going to kill him in the end.

 

That, to Dean, is the biggest injustice in the entire world - the organ keeping Cas alive would kill him one day. It could be tomorrow, it could be ten years from now. No one knew. Dean decided he did not want to let Castiel go and he would be around as long as Cas let him. He decides to call Cas and tell him as much.

 

“The long haul, huh?” Castiel asks after listening to Dean pour his heart out.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers.

 

“You sure? I mean, it’s not like we know each other that well.”

 

Dean licks his lips and nods to himself, deciding in one moment. “Yes.”

 

“I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, in case you want to know where I am.”

 

“Thanks for telling me,” he says.

 

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Castiel replies. “I’m moving in with my grandmother… away from the city. She lives out in the countryside, the air is cleaner, and is better for me. You still want to be in the long haul? Since it’ll be quite literal.”

 

Dean smirks. “Yeah, Cas.”

 

“Okay. Good bye, Dean.”

 

“See you later, Cas.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel agrees and then hangs up. Dean listens to the dialtone before hanging up as well. Not long after, the door is opening and Sam is coming in. Dean looks over at him, hoping there are no tears.

 

“Hey,” he says and Sam smiles and waves. “Where the hell were you?”

 

“Sorry, I tried to call you,” Sam says with an apologetic shrug. “I stayed over at Dad’s… His place really _is_ nice.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes and snaps coldly, “Then why don’t you go _live_ with him, if it’s so much better than here?” He doesn’t mean to be awful, especially not after facing mortality the night prior, but it still feels as if Sam has betrayed him.

 

“Because I want to stay with you,” Sam replies. “You’re my brother and I love you, Dean. I mean, yeah, I had a good time with Dad, but I know we couldn’t live together.”

 

Dean coughs, trying to cover up his emotions. They were hanging on a knife’s edge and he didn’t like it. “Oh,” he manages lamely.

 

“So, remember how I said I’d ask that girl what was wrong with Cas, well-.”

 

“I know,” Dean cuts him off. “I was with him last night in the ER.”

 

Sam’s jaw hangs open, his eyes widening. “Oh _shit_ , is he okay?”

 

“Yes,” Dean says. “I guess. If you can call ‘going to die sometime soon’ okay.”

 

“Holy _shit_.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sam bites his lip and steps closer to place a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean, I can tell you really care about him…”

 

He nods and brushes tears from his eyes. He isn’t about to cry in front of Sam like a baby. “Yeah, well, um… I told him I was in it for the long haul, however long that ends up being.”

 

“... _Wow_ , you really are into him.”

 

“I know, it’s weird, but I just- I like him, Sam. I like him a lot. He makes me feel alive.”

 

Sam nods. “Good… So… Are _we_ okay?”

 

Dean nods and gives Sam a hug. He would not allow something as stupid as his father trying to be a father ruin their relationship. Not when he had no idea when the last day would be _the_ last. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

 

 

Castiel’s grandmother’s house is beautiful.

 

There is no other word to describe it. It’s bigger than any house Dean has ever been to, which isn’t saying _much_ , but it’s still big by his standards. He walks up to the front door wearing a button up maroon shirt, his nicest jeans, boots, and he even slicked his hair to the side. Trying to be an upstanding gentleman had been harder than he had first expected.

 

An older woman answered the door and Dean could only assume her to be Castiel’s grandmother. He smiles and holds the flowers in front of him like a shield. “Hi, are you Mrs. Novak?”

 

“That’s right,” she says, looking him up and down, “and who might this handsome devil be?”

 

Dean blushes and glances down shyly. “I’m Dean, I think Cas told you about me…?”

 

“Oh, yes, _Dean_. The boyfriend. Come in.”

 

_The boyfriend_.

 

The words rolled off nicely and Dean liked the sound so he didn’t bother to correct her. Wiping his feet on the mat, Dean steps inside and takes in the clean smell in the air. The house is even more beautiful on the inside; elegant, with pale blue walls and fancy crystal finishings.

 

“Your home is beautiful, Ma’am,” he says politely, following her to the back sun room where Castiel is lounging on the chaise couch.

 

“Thank you, young man… Castiel, your gentleman caller is here.”

 

Castiel turns and his face lights up as he stands slowly. “Dean!”

 

Dean’s heart swells and he opens his arms to accept Castiel’s enthusiastic embrace. They kiss; probably too eagerly but Dean decides it doesn't matter. Not when one half of them sits on death row.

 

“Are these for me?” Castiel asks when he pulls back, glancing at the flowers.

 

“Yeah… I hope that’s okay-.” Shit what if flowers were bad for Cas somehow? He should have asked. _Damn it_.

 

“Yes, they’re beautiful.”

 

“I’ll take them, Castiel,” Mrs. Novak says, accepting the flowers. “I’ll put them in a vase for you… I will be… upstairs.” She says it in a way as if to tell Castiel she _knows_ what they will be doing, which only makes Dean blush again.

 

Castiel winks at him and they go and sit on the couch together. “At least she’s nice about it,” he jokes lightly.

 

“Cas, we can’t have sex with your grandmother in the house,” he admonishes.

 

Castiel laughs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t _want_ to have sex with my grandmother in the house. Besides, I’m really tired today. Can we just sit here together?”

 

Dean nods and settles on the couch with him, kicking off his shoes. Castiel settles against his chest, and Dean holds on. He holds on as tightly as he can dare. Castiel is like a tidal wave; ready to pull back and disappear into the ocean forever without Dean’s notice and he didn’t like it. Dean knows he is falling in love with Castiel and it hurts so much more knowing Castiel has so much trust in him. So much love already.

 

They watch TV shows together, not exchanging a single word, but so many things are said in their silence. So much is promised. By the end of the evening, Dean is up in Castiel’s bedroom and they’re lying side by side, naked - in more ways than one. They exchange kiss after kiss, desperate and and needy. Dean makes love to Castiel, slow, easy, and gentle.

 

“I love you,” Castiel gasps in his ear as he comes. Dean kisses him desperately, not ready to say it back, not out loud, but he knows Castiel _knows_.

 

Afterward, they lie together and sleep. Both of them at peace.

 

 

In the morning, Castiel goes to the hospital.

 

He’s has heart failure at 8:07 a.m.

 

Dean drives home feeling empty and sick. Castiel needs a new heart and they aren’t sure if he’ll get one in time. Tears blind him as he drives down the road, choking on his own pathetic sobs. He feels stupid - crying over Castiel like this, but he does.

 

When had they met? Dean can’t remember.

 

How could someone he did not know, for maybe a month? If that? Affect him so badly.

 

Dean stops at a stop sign and stares into space for a moment. He needs to call Sam and tell him he won’t be back for a few days. Dean pulls forward to make a u-turn. He has to go back to Cas; he can’t just abandon him in favor of going home. He has to know what is going to happen to him. He has to

 

 

 

The steady sound of beeping wakes him up. He looks around, his eyes trailing all over the room. There is an oxygen mask over his mouth and he weakly pulls it down, trying to sit up. His grandmother is sitting next to him, tears streaming down her face.

 

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” she says, reaching forward to press a hand to his forehead. “They weren’t sure you were going to survive the surgery.”

 

Castiel frowns, trying to sit up. “What happened?”

 

“You had heart failure again- you needed a new heart…”

 

“No, I remember that- I just… I was here and then I wasn’t…”

 

She nods and brushes his hair back with her hand. “Castiel, I have… something I have to tell you,” she whispers weakly.

 

“What?” he asks. Normally after a heart transplant, Castiel feels weak, but not his time. He feels strong. Normal. Which is a first, but he isn’t going to question it. Not yet at least.

 

“You got a new heart,” his grandmother starts off with a small smile, “the right blood type. A _perfect_ match.”

 

That explained why he felt so good. “Well, good... Why do you look so sad?”

 

Her lip trembled. “The man who died to give you his heart is someone you know,” she whispers brokenly. “Dean was… on his way back here, they said he was at a stop sign… They believed he was turning his car around when he was struck by a truck… He was brought here but he didn’t make it… His heart was viable and as he was an organ donor…”

 

Castiel stares at her for a long time without saying anything. The words take a while to process. Dean. His Dean. Dead. Dead from a car crash. Donated his heart. To him. The tears come eventually and he’s screaming. The doctors come in to see if he’s alright but he tells them he isn’t. His grandmother stares and cries as they give him something to sleep. Castiel thinks on green eyes before he sees nothing else.

 

 

“It’s not fair how life works,” Castiel says quietly to Dean’s headstone, sitting cross legged in front of it. The sky is bright and sunny but Castiel is cold inside. “Your brother is living with your dad and I’m sure you think that _sucks_ ass.”

 

Dean has no answer for him.

 

“They said with this heart I could live _years_... “ Castiel cuts off, fighting tears. “But it’s _not fair_ that you had to die so I could keep on fucking living. It’s bullshit.” His voice breaks as he cries. His heart speeds up and he wonders if that is Dean telling him to shut up and go do something fucking fun.

 

He shakes his head and presses a kiss to Dean’s headstone. hugging it. “I love you, Dean Winchester. Thank you. Thank you for giving me your heart… And I know you're up there laughing at what a cheesy line that is, and how for us, it’s fucking literal.”

  
He stands up and picks up Dean’s jacket. Sam had given it to him to keep. He pulls it on and relishes in Dean’s scent, knowing one day it will stop smelling of the man he had loved for such a short period of time. Castiel walks back to his car.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have done my best to research HLHS and heart transplants, but I am not an expert
> 
> http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/CongenitalHeartDefects/AboutCongenitalHeartDefects/Single-Ventricle-Defects_UCM_307037_Article.jsp  
> http://www.cdc.gov/ncbddd/heartdefects/hlhs.html  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypoplastic_left_heart_syndrome  
> http://www.childrenshospital.org/health-topics/conditions/hypoplastic-left-heart-syndrome-hlhs
> 
> http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/CongenitalHeartDefects/CareTreatmentforCongenitalHeartDefects/Heart-Transplant_UCM_307731_Article.jsp  
> http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health/health-topics/topics/ht/risks


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